Be Forewarned, Impossible To Look Away.
I think I could watch this puppy cam for hours at a time. See for yourself. At last look they had almost got the organized puppy bed all mixed up, and turned around.
UPDATE: Puppy close up camera licking. You are sorry you missed it!
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
A Word Or Two
About Dad.
As of about two weeks ago dad finally became a part of the few, the proud, the retired! We were so happy for him we bought a cake, and made a nice dinner to celebrate. He worked the last 30+ years at the same place. Year after year he left home at 10:00 pm every week night to attend to the night pharmacy at one of our local hospitals. He never missed work, never called in, he went to work sick, or tired, or in whatever mood he may have been he never failed, and never buckled on the job. In all those years, if he made any mistakes as the hospital night pharmacist, I never heard of it. I must mention, that dad was the night pharmacist because he chose to be, after all those years he had enough seniority to have any shift he wanted, but he liked the night shift, and pretty much hated the politics of working during the day when all the managers and brown noses were there.
My husband remarked one time that all dad wanted was to just come home and eat his toast in the morning in peace. Everyone knew if they needed to catch dad before he went of to sleep you had to show up at around 8:30 am where dad and mom would be sitting at the kitchen table over breakfast. She would drink coffee, he would eat his toast, and then, he would get up, stretch and head off to bed.
Dad has always been a man of many interests. I honestly think of him as one of the very smartest men I know. It has always amazed me that I can bring up any subject, and dad will pick up talking about it like he's studied it his whole life. He would never say what his IQ is, in fact, when I've tried to pin him down and ask him what it is, he waves it off as unimportant, but mom told me once that as a young man it was quite high.
As brilliant and interesting as dad is, he is the most humble man I know. We often poke fun at his little quirks, and truth be told we all love to make him laugh. Mom has often referred to him as a "nutty professor type" which in some ways sticks. For instance, one day my dad came home from a meeting, this was back when he was a bus passenger type, now first I need to explain. My dad went through a phase where he tried to take advantage of our ill run mass transit bus system here in town. Honestly, I think he found it hard to resist since the bus ran past their house every hour or so, and sometimes when the weather was bad, he would take the bus in to work.
Bus passengers have often been a topic of discussion at our house. When I was in my awkward teen years every thing and anything was embarrassing and humiliating to me, including the fact that Dad had become friendly with the bus drivers and as a result they would drop him off in front of the house instead of at the bus stop up the street! Dad relished many opportunities to tell me that the bus passengers were asking about me. It goes back to the time when I got in trouble and mom and dad took my car away and made me ride the city bus for a month, but even before that, there was the time I died of embarrassment when dad was replacing our old toilet, and I was walking home with my friends only to see a toilet on the front porch at my house. For some reason this embarrassed me to no end and inspired much laughter from my dad.
I stormed into the house and demanded to know just what exactly that THING was doing on our front porch! This just made dad laugh and laugh, to the point that he was constantly dreaming up embarrassing household items he could put out with the trash to embarrass me, to which he would point out that all the bus passengers were asking why MY toilet was outside! Of course, I had to hit back telling him that I got up to go walk to school and there were bus passengers waiting outside in line to use the toilet! This went on for most of my teen years. I was a shit, I admit it.
So, one day dad came in from one of his bus rides and I remember him telling my mom, "I think I need new glasses, I can't see out of these anymore, have been having trouble all day" he kept going on until finally, I happened to look up and notice, "Dad, you are missing a lense in your glasses!" He took them off and gave them a good inspection and found that yes indeed he was missing a lense! He had to laugh because he had even been telling people he needed new glasses and not one person seemed to notice while looking him straight in the eye that he was missing a lense, either that or they had not bothered to mention that to him. A little while later he comes back with his lense, it had fallen out in his bedroom some time that morning. We all chuckled about that one, it's all in good fun.
Now that dad is retired we're all wondering, what is he going to do with all his free time? In the last few years he has been active in his church. He spends his weekends taking care of the church yard, which is a pretty big lot. He mows, he rakes, and pulls weeds, and it sometimes worries us about him out working in the heat like that, but he wants to do it. He's a very dedicated Episcopal man, but if it weren't for his care of his congregation and the priest, I guess he would become Catholic. The Episcopal church is not what it used to be, and dad knows there are a lot of problems, but he cares for the church.
Just the other day I was teasing dad about him running off to join a monastery. He's been going to these retreats and things with monks. He knows all about monks and stuff, even buys monk coffee. He brought out his literature about the different monks, and what they do and all, and it is quite interesting, I really don't know what I'd do if he ran off to join them. I guess it would make a great conversation starter, Hi, my dad is a monk...in fact today he was going to a meeting at a monastery about supporting the things, I don't know, I'm not Catholic or Episcopal. I'm just Christian, and not a very good one at that, although I'm not proud of that fact.
It's strange in a way, I think my parents could not agree on religion, although it was not heated or hateful, they just didn't seem to agree, and so, didn't really push us children one way or another. It was as adults that we found our own way, my sister became Catholic, and I share the same Christian beliefs as my mother. And it is what it is. We all get along fine, but we do have some interesting discussions about religion, we try not to crush each other with our beliefs.
I think my dad has always had a calling toward religion, I know at one point he contemplated becoming a priest, but didn't. I think he is quite interested in the monasteries as there are so few left. He's really into contemplative prayer and things, and I'm happy if it brings him peace. Although, I think mom's got some other plans for him like painting the kitchen and stuff, but he seems to be off to a great start with this retirement thing. More on dad later.
As of about two weeks ago dad finally became a part of the few, the proud, the retired! We were so happy for him we bought a cake, and made a nice dinner to celebrate. He worked the last 30+ years at the same place. Year after year he left home at 10:00 pm every week night to attend to the night pharmacy at one of our local hospitals. He never missed work, never called in, he went to work sick, or tired, or in whatever mood he may have been he never failed, and never buckled on the job. In all those years, if he made any mistakes as the hospital night pharmacist, I never heard of it. I must mention, that dad was the night pharmacist because he chose to be, after all those years he had enough seniority to have any shift he wanted, but he liked the night shift, and pretty much hated the politics of working during the day when all the managers and brown noses were there.
My husband remarked one time that all dad wanted was to just come home and eat his toast in the morning in peace. Everyone knew if they needed to catch dad before he went of to sleep you had to show up at around 8:30 am where dad and mom would be sitting at the kitchen table over breakfast. She would drink coffee, he would eat his toast, and then, he would get up, stretch and head off to bed.
Dad has always been a man of many interests. I honestly think of him as one of the very smartest men I know. It has always amazed me that I can bring up any subject, and dad will pick up talking about it like he's studied it his whole life. He would never say what his IQ is, in fact, when I've tried to pin him down and ask him what it is, he waves it off as unimportant, but mom told me once that as a young man it was quite high.
As brilliant and interesting as dad is, he is the most humble man I know. We often poke fun at his little quirks, and truth be told we all love to make him laugh. Mom has often referred to him as a "nutty professor type" which in some ways sticks. For instance, one day my dad came home from a meeting, this was back when he was a bus passenger type, now first I need to explain. My dad went through a phase where he tried to take advantage of our ill run mass transit bus system here in town. Honestly, I think he found it hard to resist since the bus ran past their house every hour or so, and sometimes when the weather was bad, he would take the bus in to work.
Bus passengers have often been a topic of discussion at our house. When I was in my awkward teen years every thing and anything was embarrassing and humiliating to me, including the fact that Dad had become friendly with the bus drivers and as a result they would drop him off in front of the house instead of at the bus stop up the street! Dad relished many opportunities to tell me that the bus passengers were asking about me. It goes back to the time when I got in trouble and mom and dad took my car away and made me ride the city bus for a month, but even before that, there was the time I died of embarrassment when dad was replacing our old toilet, and I was walking home with my friends only to see a toilet on the front porch at my house. For some reason this embarrassed me to no end and inspired much laughter from my dad.
I stormed into the house and demanded to know just what exactly that THING was doing on our front porch! This just made dad laugh and laugh, to the point that he was constantly dreaming up embarrassing household items he could put out with the trash to embarrass me, to which he would point out that all the bus passengers were asking why MY toilet was outside! Of course, I had to hit back telling him that I got up to go walk to school and there were bus passengers waiting outside in line to use the toilet! This went on for most of my teen years. I was a shit, I admit it.
So, one day dad came in from one of his bus rides and I remember him telling my mom, "I think I need new glasses, I can't see out of these anymore, have been having trouble all day" he kept going on until finally, I happened to look up and notice, "Dad, you are missing a lense in your glasses!" He took them off and gave them a good inspection and found that yes indeed he was missing a lense! He had to laugh because he had even been telling people he needed new glasses and not one person seemed to notice while looking him straight in the eye that he was missing a lense, either that or they had not bothered to mention that to him. A little while later he comes back with his lense, it had fallen out in his bedroom some time that morning. We all chuckled about that one, it's all in good fun.
Now that dad is retired we're all wondering, what is he going to do with all his free time? In the last few years he has been active in his church. He spends his weekends taking care of the church yard, which is a pretty big lot. He mows, he rakes, and pulls weeds, and it sometimes worries us about him out working in the heat like that, but he wants to do it. He's a very dedicated Episcopal man, but if it weren't for his care of his congregation and the priest, I guess he would become Catholic. The Episcopal church is not what it used to be, and dad knows there are a lot of problems, but he cares for the church.
Just the other day I was teasing dad about him running off to join a monastery. He's been going to these retreats and things with monks. He knows all about monks and stuff, even buys monk coffee. He brought out his literature about the different monks, and what they do and all, and it is quite interesting, I really don't know what I'd do if he ran off to join them. I guess it would make a great conversation starter, Hi, my dad is a monk...in fact today he was going to a meeting at a monastery about supporting the things, I don't know, I'm not Catholic or Episcopal. I'm just Christian, and not a very good one at that, although I'm not proud of that fact.
It's strange in a way, I think my parents could not agree on religion, although it was not heated or hateful, they just didn't seem to agree, and so, didn't really push us children one way or another. It was as adults that we found our own way, my sister became Catholic, and I share the same Christian beliefs as my mother. And it is what it is. We all get along fine, but we do have some interesting discussions about religion, we try not to crush each other with our beliefs.
I think my dad has always had a calling toward religion, I know at one point he contemplated becoming a priest, but didn't. I think he is quite interested in the monasteries as there are so few left. He's really into contemplative prayer and things, and I'm happy if it brings him peace. Although, I think mom's got some other plans for him like painting the kitchen and stuff, but he seems to be off to a great start with this retirement thing. More on dad later.
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Maybe The Hatred Will Stop
That Would Be A Good Thing.
Now that the election is over, and really, who isn't surprised by the results? I know I wasn't. The thing that bothered me the most was not those drunk people screaming and hollering in front of the White House in celebration that their guy won, no, it was that they were waving a flag bearing a hammer and sickle, that moment truly brought a tear to my eye. Unlike some people, democrats I'm looking at you, the hate rhetoric that we've been treated to for the last 8 years will stop. Oh sure there will be some, but the hatred will be nothing to what poor President Bush was treated to. My gosh, is there a person more scorned or maligned? Why yes, I guess Sarah Palin got a taste of that, and in truth I guess I am glad that she will not have to endure the outright hatred that Bush has been treated to, although I do think she is tough enough to handle it.
Am I happy about America's choice? Not particularly. In fact, I'm sorry to see it, but I respect our electoral process, and it was a clear and decisive victory, and I won't disparage it. If they decide to go after our investments, I will not invest. I can't do anything else about the taxation they plan to levy on people, I can only bear it and pay up, and hope for people to return to reason. Do I think they will only tax people making 250k or more a year, no, hell no. It won't stop at that, soon they will have their hands on our income as well. And even so, it doesn't make it right. It's not the right thing to do. Wrong is wrong. It is decisively wrong to tax at a much higher rate people who have done nothing other than be successful, but we've been over this before.
It's a done deal. A big screen high definition flat panel t.v. in every pot. That's what we'll get. The American people have spoken.
Now that the election is over, and really, who isn't surprised by the results? I know I wasn't. The thing that bothered me the most was not those drunk people screaming and hollering in front of the White House in celebration that their guy won, no, it was that they were waving a flag bearing a hammer and sickle, that moment truly brought a tear to my eye. Unlike some people, democrats I'm looking at you, the hate rhetoric that we've been treated to for the last 8 years will stop. Oh sure there will be some, but the hatred will be nothing to what poor President Bush was treated to. My gosh, is there a person more scorned or maligned? Why yes, I guess Sarah Palin got a taste of that, and in truth I guess I am glad that she will not have to endure the outright hatred that Bush has been treated to, although I do think she is tough enough to handle it.
Am I happy about America's choice? Not particularly. In fact, I'm sorry to see it, but I respect our electoral process, and it was a clear and decisive victory, and I won't disparage it. If they decide to go after our investments, I will not invest. I can't do anything else about the taxation they plan to levy on people, I can only bear it and pay up, and hope for people to return to reason. Do I think they will only tax people making 250k or more a year, no, hell no. It won't stop at that, soon they will have their hands on our income as well. And even so, it doesn't make it right. It's not the right thing to do. Wrong is wrong. It is decisively wrong to tax at a much higher rate people who have done nothing other than be successful, but we've been over this before.
It's a done deal. A big screen high definition flat panel t.v. in every pot. That's what we'll get. The American people have spoken.
Monday, November 03, 2008
Wasn't It Obvious?
From Day One.
It amazes me that people are just now starting to call Oh Bam Uh's ideas Marxist when it was plainly obvious to me from day one. I don't even have a college degree, which these days is probably more helpful when it comes to spotting a bad idea. Besides, there are way too many college professors that share the same ideology as Mr. Oh Bam Uh.
What baffles me is how at least half of voting America thinks redistributing the wealth is just okey dokey. I don't make anywhere near 250K a year, but know it won't stop at that! It just won't. Some people say, oh don't worry if he wins, wait and see what he does first. Well, that's just fine and dandy, but unfortunately, these things are very hard to get undone. New deal anyone?
So, we'll just see, but you know what I won't do? I won't act like a hateful malcontent like the left has done for the last 8 years. I won't spread the hatred and anger that Bush Derangement Syndrome has brought this country. I won't act like a classless baboon. I'm tired of the venom of the left, I'm tired of the accusations, the hatred, the name calling. I'm sick of all of it.
If he wins, I will make the best of it. What else can I do?
It amazes me that people are just now starting to call Oh Bam Uh's ideas Marxist when it was plainly obvious to me from day one. I don't even have a college degree, which these days is probably more helpful when it comes to spotting a bad idea. Besides, there are way too many college professors that share the same ideology as Mr. Oh Bam Uh.
What baffles me is how at least half of voting America thinks redistributing the wealth is just okey dokey. I don't make anywhere near 250K a year, but know it won't stop at that! It just won't. Some people say, oh don't worry if he wins, wait and see what he does first. Well, that's just fine and dandy, but unfortunately, these things are very hard to get undone. New deal anyone?
So, we'll just see, but you know what I won't do? I won't act like a hateful malcontent like the left has done for the last 8 years. I won't spread the hatred and anger that Bush Derangement Syndrome has brought this country. I won't act like a classless baboon. I'm tired of the venom of the left, I'm tired of the accusations, the hatred, the name calling. I'm sick of all of it.
If he wins, I will make the best of it. What else can I do?
More On Mom
Part 2.
I really am not sure what my mom would think of these posts. She doesn't read blogs, but I'm inspired to write about her, and so I will.
Mom grew up the adopted child of a well off couple, but oddly enough, and against their wishes, at some point she regained contact with her biological brother, Albert. No one called him Albert, we all called him Uncle Frankie. He was an interesting character. I remember he and my dad both drove trucks at one time. Eventually my dad went to pharmacy school and became a pharmacist, but Uncle Frankie kept on driving trucks, and he did it his whole life. My impression of him was that he didn't have much use for rules, and did what he wanted to do. I remember liking him, and thought he was a lot of fun to be around.
When mom first started off in nursing, she went to work at a mental hospital, that is where she found out that her mother had died as a patient in the asylum. According to mom, her mother was not mentally ill, but suffered seizures. Mom said that her mother had had a seizure and thrown my mother, as a baby, on a hot stove, and I believe this is why she was committed. The details are quite sketchy, but this is what I was told. Mom said that she died of pneumonia at that hospital.
In 1975, I was 5 and in kindergarten, I remember my mom taking my sister and I to meet our biological grandfather. He lived in a dingy little apartment off of downtown. It was a studio type of apartment if my memory serves, and there was not much furniture in it, but a bed, and a couch. I will never forget going into the kitchen and opening up the refrigerator and seeing nothing in it. It was nearly completely empty, as was his dark little apartment. When we arrived, he seemed quite pleased to see us, and he was kind towards my sister and I giving us each a small soup can full of pennies. This is the only meeting I remember of him, although I believe we did see him more than once, I was just too young to remember much. We called him grandpa Noah, and I thought he had a really neat name.
We moved 2 states away the next year, and I never saw grandpa Noah alive again. In fact, I can't remember when exactly he died, if it was before or after we moved away, but 1976 is the date that comes to mind. If my memory serves me correctly he died before we left. When he died the family called my mother to pay for the burial, and she did even though I don't think she hardly knew him either.
Before we moved we lived in a little duplex, it was actually a big house divided into two, on the outside of town. It was surrounded by a cow pasture, and a few other houses. It was owned by a man named Mr. Wilson, who used to come and take me out to the pasture on his tractor. He was a very nice man, and I was a 5 year old completely enthralled with the cows that lived practically in my backyard. I spent my days wandering the enormous yard, and would stand at the barbed wire fence calling to the cows hoping they would come close enough so that I could pet them, which never happened. One day I took it upon myself to try and climb through that fence, and mom told me she heard me screaming and ran out to find me tangled up in it. That's when I learned those things hurt. I never did try to climb through that fence again.
In the other half of the house, a couple with a little girl a couple of years younger than me moved in. I was so shocked the day I discovered someone living there, but I was thrilled as the lady was filling up a small pool of water and immediately invited me to play in it. She was German, and had an accent. I'd never met a German before, didn't even know what that was actually, but she tried to teach my sister and I how to count and things. Not long after they moved in, in the evenings we would hear a lot of yelling and screaming over there. Mom said she thought that man was beating on her. I think this was quite frightening to my sister and I.
One day the lady was our neighbor, the next she and her daughter were living with us. Dad was away at pharmacy school, and it was just us girls. I don't have any idea what happened to this woman's husband, never really heard of him again. I remember my mom taking her to apply for jobs, and all of us girls going with mom to pick her up from work when she got one. They lived with us until we moved.
Uncle Frankie came to help us fill up a U-haul to drive to our new home. Dad was finishing up his residency and had landed a job at a hospital there. The lady, and her daughter were going with us. I don't think I found this odd at all. It was the night before we were going to leave, and I remember all of us girls were sleeping on the living room floor that night, Uncle Frankie was there, and it was like a light bulb went on over my head when I realized that, Uncle Frankie and the lady were going to sleep in the same room. That's when it dawned on me that they were a couple. I remember asking my mom why Uncle was going to sleep in her room, and she just shushed me, and told me to go to bed.
We headed out the next day, and when we got there my dad had a little apartment for us to live in until we found something else. Frankie, and the lady and her daughter got themselves a place to live, and I almost forgot they had come with us. I'm not sure if some kind of falling out happened with the adults, but Frankie and the lady moved away about a year later. They actually went back to where we came from, and stayed there. For the most part, that was the end of him in my life.
The last time I saw him I was in my 20's, and he and the lady came to visit my parents. We hadn't seen them in years. I don't know why. They were married, and were doing well. He was still driving trucks, and the little girl was all grown up. He died a few years later of lung cancer, at the age of 58. Mom went back to help, and to be there with them. I know it was very hard on her. I believe those last few years my parents had rekindled a relationship with them, and to this day my mom is still in contact with the lady, and talks of going to see her.
The lady and her daughter were the first in a line of people that my mother took in over the years, the woman was from a foreign country in an abusive marriage, was completely broke with no where to go, to my mom taking them in was the only decent thing to do. I guess mom couldn't stand the idea of having a big house if she couldn't offer a room to someone who needed it. There were more, and they seemed to find their way to my mother as if she just radiated something that called to them. It is a theme in my mom's life, and so much of who she is.
More later.
I really am not sure what my mom would think of these posts. She doesn't read blogs, but I'm inspired to write about her, and so I will.
Mom grew up the adopted child of a well off couple, but oddly enough, and against their wishes, at some point she regained contact with her biological brother, Albert. No one called him Albert, we all called him Uncle Frankie. He was an interesting character. I remember he and my dad both drove trucks at one time. Eventually my dad went to pharmacy school and became a pharmacist, but Uncle Frankie kept on driving trucks, and he did it his whole life. My impression of him was that he didn't have much use for rules, and did what he wanted to do. I remember liking him, and thought he was a lot of fun to be around.
When mom first started off in nursing, she went to work at a mental hospital, that is where she found out that her mother had died as a patient in the asylum. According to mom, her mother was not mentally ill, but suffered seizures. Mom said that her mother had had a seizure and thrown my mother, as a baby, on a hot stove, and I believe this is why she was committed. The details are quite sketchy, but this is what I was told. Mom said that she died of pneumonia at that hospital.
In 1975, I was 5 and in kindergarten, I remember my mom taking my sister and I to meet our biological grandfather. He lived in a dingy little apartment off of downtown. It was a studio type of apartment if my memory serves, and there was not much furniture in it, but a bed, and a couch. I will never forget going into the kitchen and opening up the refrigerator and seeing nothing in it. It was nearly completely empty, as was his dark little apartment. When we arrived, he seemed quite pleased to see us, and he was kind towards my sister and I giving us each a small soup can full of pennies. This is the only meeting I remember of him, although I believe we did see him more than once, I was just too young to remember much. We called him grandpa Noah, and I thought he had a really neat name.
We moved 2 states away the next year, and I never saw grandpa Noah alive again. In fact, I can't remember when exactly he died, if it was before or after we moved away, but 1976 is the date that comes to mind. If my memory serves me correctly he died before we left. When he died the family called my mother to pay for the burial, and she did even though I don't think she hardly knew him either.
Before we moved we lived in a little duplex, it was actually a big house divided into two, on the outside of town. It was surrounded by a cow pasture, and a few other houses. It was owned by a man named Mr. Wilson, who used to come and take me out to the pasture on his tractor. He was a very nice man, and I was a 5 year old completely enthralled with the cows that lived practically in my backyard. I spent my days wandering the enormous yard, and would stand at the barbed wire fence calling to the cows hoping they would come close enough so that I could pet them, which never happened. One day I took it upon myself to try and climb through that fence, and mom told me she heard me screaming and ran out to find me tangled up in it. That's when I learned those things hurt. I never did try to climb through that fence again.
In the other half of the house, a couple with a little girl a couple of years younger than me moved in. I was so shocked the day I discovered someone living there, but I was thrilled as the lady was filling up a small pool of water and immediately invited me to play in it. She was German, and had an accent. I'd never met a German before, didn't even know what that was actually, but she tried to teach my sister and I how to count and things. Not long after they moved in, in the evenings we would hear a lot of yelling and screaming over there. Mom said she thought that man was beating on her. I think this was quite frightening to my sister and I.
One day the lady was our neighbor, the next she and her daughter were living with us. Dad was away at pharmacy school, and it was just us girls. I don't have any idea what happened to this woman's husband, never really heard of him again. I remember my mom taking her to apply for jobs, and all of us girls going with mom to pick her up from work when she got one. They lived with us until we moved.
Uncle Frankie came to help us fill up a U-haul to drive to our new home. Dad was finishing up his residency and had landed a job at a hospital there. The lady, and her daughter were going with us. I don't think I found this odd at all. It was the night before we were going to leave, and I remember all of us girls were sleeping on the living room floor that night, Uncle Frankie was there, and it was like a light bulb went on over my head when I realized that, Uncle Frankie and the lady were going to sleep in the same room. That's when it dawned on me that they were a couple. I remember asking my mom why Uncle was going to sleep in her room, and she just shushed me, and told me to go to bed.
We headed out the next day, and when we got there my dad had a little apartment for us to live in until we found something else. Frankie, and the lady and her daughter got themselves a place to live, and I almost forgot they had come with us. I'm not sure if some kind of falling out happened with the adults, but Frankie and the lady moved away about a year later. They actually went back to where we came from, and stayed there. For the most part, that was the end of him in my life.
The last time I saw him I was in my 20's, and he and the lady came to visit my parents. We hadn't seen them in years. I don't know why. They were married, and were doing well. He was still driving trucks, and the little girl was all grown up. He died a few years later of lung cancer, at the age of 58. Mom went back to help, and to be there with them. I know it was very hard on her. I believe those last few years my parents had rekindled a relationship with them, and to this day my mom is still in contact with the lady, and talks of going to see her.
The lady and her daughter were the first in a line of people that my mother took in over the years, the woman was from a foreign country in an abusive marriage, was completely broke with no where to go, to my mom taking them in was the only decent thing to do. I guess mom couldn't stand the idea of having a big house if she couldn't offer a room to someone who needed it. There were more, and they seemed to find their way to my mother as if she just radiated something that called to them. It is a theme in my mom's life, and so much of who she is.
More later.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
An Interesting Topic
My Mother.
Like most people, knowing who they are is much more interesting if you know where they came from. My mom was born in 1941 to a poor family. She was the 3rd child of a couple she knows very little about. Mom found out that she had an older sister that died at the age of two, and she had an older brother who she knew most of her life.
There are several gaps of time in my mother's life that are somewhat unaccounted for. I know her mother died when my mom was just a toddler. Her father, named Noah, tried to take care of mom and her brother as best he could. I don't know my mom's mother's name. I just realized that. Anyway, Noah took the children to stay with a woman friend he knew. She was some sort of prostitute, I guess her husband looked the other way while she earned money. Mom said they weren't mean towards her brother and her, it's just that their lifestyle was inappropriate for children, and so at some point they were taken by social services. I believe they were all practically homeless, and living in and out of motels.
It was at that point that my mother's extended family made a crucial decision that changed her life forever. When asked if they wished to take the two small children in, no one in the family was willing to do that, and so mom and her brother, Albert, were sent to live in an orphanage. A man and wife, who were southern baptists, took the 2 children in. I guess there were other children there as well. Don't ask my mother today what she thinks of the baptists, she's basically never gotten over living with them, and her hatred runs deep.
When I asked my mother how she could hate a church over the actions of one woman, she was thoroughly disgusted as she explained that this wretched woman would drag the children to church every Sunday where she was praised for her work with those little "orphan" children. It's taken me a while to get it, but basically it's this, mom and the other children were viewed and treated as if they were some charity cases by the congregates, and at home they were treated as less important than the family goat! The woman, according to my mother was unbearable, cruel, and nasty. She beat the children, practically starved them, and made their lives a nightmare. Sitting through Sunday after Sunday of this woman being praised made my mother so angry, she has never been able to stand any of them since. Sure, some might think that irrational, but considering she was somewhere between the age of 2-9 when this was going on, it probably made a deep impression on her that she can't shake even today, she won't let it go.
My dad says it's that very stubborn side of my mother that has helped her to survive such a childhood. He says the strength she has always had is a result of that time in her life, that she developed this hardness, and inflexibility as a means to survive. I guess it makes sense, she is one heck of a tough woman, and she doesn't buckle under pressure, ever. Interestingly, she is also extremely stubborn in her love of her children, and it never falters. She'd do anything for any one of us kids no matter what it is.
My mom has spared many details of her life with those people at the orphanage, but I do know this, mom's mother died when she was 2, and mom was adopted when she was 9, so there is 7 years in there we know very little about. That's the time she was with the horrid baptists.
At some point along came a couple to adopt my mother. Clarence and Elizabeth were their names, and they did just that. The only thing they did wrong which I find extremely bizarre, is they did not adopt my mom's brother too. They left him there, and he ended up staying where he was until he was in his teens and eventually ran off. Mom told me that grandmother would have taken him as well, but grandpa didn't want to, which isn't all that surprising knowing him. He didn't think people should have more than one child, which becomes an interesting fact later on in this story. I guess people thought differently back then, I can't imagine separating siblings, but I guess they figured it would be better for at least one child to get a better life. These people became my grandparents.
They raised mom, part of the time, in the same small town the rest of her biological family lived in. Mom told me once that her biological grandparents lived across the street from her adopted ones, but she did not know it at the time. Grandma and Grandpa were actually pretty well off. He had a midas touch, and owned businesses, properties, and built houses, he even named streets and neighborhoods after my mom and grandmother. Mom grew up living in different places between Missouri, Oklahoma, and Colorado, and got to travel other places as well. In the summer they would run a little motel in the mountains in Colorado during tourist season. Grandma and mom cleaned the rooms, and ran things for the most part, then in the winter they headed back home to Oklahoma.
Mom had nice homes, horses, a full belly, and lots of love. Grandmother doted on her buying her nice clothes, and things. They got my mom some corrective plastic surgery she needed after being born with a cleft palate. They gave her a fantastic life, and she accepted it as well as she could. I believe my mom tried to be the little girl they wanted, but mom also had a hard time with affection. To this day my mother bristles when anyone attempts to hug her. She simply cannot stand it. We tease her about it, and sometimes sneak an arm around her shoulder, and she tolerates it, but we know not to go too far. When we were babies and small children mom hugged us and held us, we weren't neglected, but as we got older, she did it less and less. She was still quite sweet, and actually a really fun mom as we got older.
I picture my mother as a little girl going through what she did, and am amazed at the woman I've always known her to be. I've never known my mom to not help someone in need. I've never known my mom to deny a meal, or a place to stay to anyone she cared even remotely about. I've seen my mom taken advantage of and dismissed by greedy self serving people, and her continue to be kind towards them. I've also seen her wrath if someone pushed it too far.
There is much more, but I have to stop for now. More later.
Like most people, knowing who they are is much more interesting if you know where they came from. My mom was born in 1941 to a poor family. She was the 3rd child of a couple she knows very little about. Mom found out that she had an older sister that died at the age of two, and she had an older brother who she knew most of her life.
There are several gaps of time in my mother's life that are somewhat unaccounted for. I know her mother died when my mom was just a toddler. Her father, named Noah, tried to take care of mom and her brother as best he could. I don't know my mom's mother's name. I just realized that. Anyway, Noah took the children to stay with a woman friend he knew. She was some sort of prostitute, I guess her husband looked the other way while she earned money. Mom said they weren't mean towards her brother and her, it's just that their lifestyle was inappropriate for children, and so at some point they were taken by social services. I believe they were all practically homeless, and living in and out of motels.
It was at that point that my mother's extended family made a crucial decision that changed her life forever. When asked if they wished to take the two small children in, no one in the family was willing to do that, and so mom and her brother, Albert, were sent to live in an orphanage. A man and wife, who were southern baptists, took the 2 children in. I guess there were other children there as well. Don't ask my mother today what she thinks of the baptists, she's basically never gotten over living with them, and her hatred runs deep.
When I asked my mother how she could hate a church over the actions of one woman, she was thoroughly disgusted as she explained that this wretched woman would drag the children to church every Sunday where she was praised for her work with those little "orphan" children. It's taken me a while to get it, but basically it's this, mom and the other children were viewed and treated as if they were some charity cases by the congregates, and at home they were treated as less important than the family goat! The woman, according to my mother was unbearable, cruel, and nasty. She beat the children, practically starved them, and made their lives a nightmare. Sitting through Sunday after Sunday of this woman being praised made my mother so angry, she has never been able to stand any of them since. Sure, some might think that irrational, but considering she was somewhere between the age of 2-9 when this was going on, it probably made a deep impression on her that she can't shake even today, she won't let it go.
My dad says it's that very stubborn side of my mother that has helped her to survive such a childhood. He says the strength she has always had is a result of that time in her life, that she developed this hardness, and inflexibility as a means to survive. I guess it makes sense, she is one heck of a tough woman, and she doesn't buckle under pressure, ever. Interestingly, she is also extremely stubborn in her love of her children, and it never falters. She'd do anything for any one of us kids no matter what it is.
My mom has spared many details of her life with those people at the orphanage, but I do know this, mom's mother died when she was 2, and mom was adopted when she was 9, so there is 7 years in there we know very little about. That's the time she was with the horrid baptists.
At some point along came a couple to adopt my mother. Clarence and Elizabeth were their names, and they did just that. The only thing they did wrong which I find extremely bizarre, is they did not adopt my mom's brother too. They left him there, and he ended up staying where he was until he was in his teens and eventually ran off. Mom told me that grandmother would have taken him as well, but grandpa didn't want to, which isn't all that surprising knowing him. He didn't think people should have more than one child, which becomes an interesting fact later on in this story. I guess people thought differently back then, I can't imagine separating siblings, but I guess they figured it would be better for at least one child to get a better life. These people became my grandparents.
They raised mom, part of the time, in the same small town the rest of her biological family lived in. Mom told me once that her biological grandparents lived across the street from her adopted ones, but she did not know it at the time. Grandma and Grandpa were actually pretty well off. He had a midas touch, and owned businesses, properties, and built houses, he even named streets and neighborhoods after my mom and grandmother. Mom grew up living in different places between Missouri, Oklahoma, and Colorado, and got to travel other places as well. In the summer they would run a little motel in the mountains in Colorado during tourist season. Grandma and mom cleaned the rooms, and ran things for the most part, then in the winter they headed back home to Oklahoma.
Mom had nice homes, horses, a full belly, and lots of love. Grandmother doted on her buying her nice clothes, and things. They got my mom some corrective plastic surgery she needed after being born with a cleft palate. They gave her a fantastic life, and she accepted it as well as she could. I believe my mom tried to be the little girl they wanted, but mom also had a hard time with affection. To this day my mother bristles when anyone attempts to hug her. She simply cannot stand it. We tease her about it, and sometimes sneak an arm around her shoulder, and she tolerates it, but we know not to go too far. When we were babies and small children mom hugged us and held us, we weren't neglected, but as we got older, she did it less and less. She was still quite sweet, and actually a really fun mom as we got older.
I picture my mother as a little girl going through what she did, and am amazed at the woman I've always known her to be. I've never known my mom to not help someone in need. I've never known my mom to deny a meal, or a place to stay to anyone she cared even remotely about. I've seen my mom taken advantage of and dismissed by greedy self serving people, and her continue to be kind towards them. I've also seen her wrath if someone pushed it too far.
There is much more, but I have to stop for now. More later.
It's Silly
I'm So Over This Part.
It's silly, my thoughts run wild all day long, but the minute I sit down to type something here, Poof! They're all gone. It's amazing how that works. It drives me nuts. I think there is a part of me that doesn't really want to put stuff out there anymore. It's kind of a silly thing to do anyway in this day and age. Maybe the majority of thoughts are much better meant to be stuck in our own minds, and should darn well stay in there. Hmm, now that's a thought.
A short post.
It's silly, my thoughts run wild all day long, but the minute I sit down to type something here, Poof! They're all gone. It's amazing how that works. It drives me nuts. I think there is a part of me that doesn't really want to put stuff out there anymore. It's kind of a silly thing to do anyway in this day and age. Maybe the majority of thoughts are much better meant to be stuck in our own minds, and should darn well stay in there. Hmm, now that's a thought.
A short post.
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